


(Wordless lullabies) and sleepless nights

by reascension



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allydia - Freeform, F/F, Oneshot, Strangers, Summer vacation in Paris, allison argent - Freeform, alternative universe, lydia martin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 14:26:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15865446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reascension/pseuds/reascension
Summary: Lord help me, I’m back on my bullshit (part 1 out of ???)





	(Wordless lullabies) and sleepless nights

**Author's Note:**

> Lord help me, I’m back on my bullshit (part 1 out of ???)

She’s scanning the stack of papers she's embracing while walking down the streets of Paris. Lydia is no stranger to the city of love, and yet here she is after all. Back in Paris. It’s a strange feeling, knowing that she’s grown older and is viewing it in a different light. She’s too caught up in her own trail of thoughts that she doesn't notice the person slamming into her before it's too late. All she can seem to focus on in that moment is the throbbing pain that follows. 

A stunned hiss escapes her lips and she eyes the spilled content of the coffee on the ground. ‘I’m sorry’ is what she means to say when she finally looks at the person, but surprisingly she finds herself at loss for words. The girl seems unreal in so many ways and at first Lydia believes she's cut from marble, something ethereal she can't explain with words. Except her brown eyes are gleaming and a smile is tugging at the corner of her lips, confirming that she is indeed real. Just as real as Lydia herself.

She’s wearing a white and orange striped sweater that compliments her orange scarf, along with the black and white checkered skirt. On top of her curly, dark hair is a black beret and Lydia gulps. She silently wonders how it'd feel like to run her fingers through the girl’s hair. “Is this yours?” she's on her knees, picking up the stack of papers that Lydia dropped in the process. They’re soaked in coffee, but she admires her will to save them and she nods feverishly. Soon they're both on their knees, cleaning up the mess.

“Thanks,” she mumbles and their eyes lock for a mere moment. “Is there any way I can make up for all of this?” Lydia gestures frantically at the mess and she chuckles. Her laugh is crystal clear and shivers runs down her spine. “Let me keep this,” the girl shows her a coffee stained paper and she doesn't have to read it to know what it is. She already knows that it's her poem, the one she wrote this very morning on the train. Despite feeling unsure, she reluctantly nods. If anyone should have it, it's her of all people.

“I’m Allison. Allison Argent,” Allison holds out a hand and Lydia greets her. The grip of her hand is soft and after they've let go, she can still feel the ghost of her hand in hers. “Lydia,” she says and watches her get up. Allison brushes dirt off of her knees, gives a small nod in her direction and disappears in the direction she came from. _Allison_. She reminds her of sleepless nights and wordless lullabies, illuminating echoes that are all too soon devoured by the break of dawn.


End file.
